


Refractory

by mizuwari



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-05 15:37:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5380649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizuwari/pseuds/mizuwari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No matter how close you get with anyone here, you're gonna be missing something. Maybe not a gun in your hands, not the killing, but you’re sure as hell going to miss the purpose.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tbh I just wanted to write some Solimiller PWP, but it got out of hand... Porn to come next chapter. Unbeta-ed.

It’s snowing again. Kaz knows this because the sun is coming in bright and overbearing through the window. It’d been a pleasant discovery when he'd just moved from Southern California; the way heavy snow tended to refract the sun and make the horizon glitter and glow. At the moment, though, it’s more annoying than it is anything else. His head throbs, and his throat is dry again. Kaz twists in the bedsheets and away from the window.

If he opens his eyes then and there, he knows it’s going to be an uphill battle sobering up and slogging through the day. It's a manageable task alone, but he can hear the rustle of bed sheets beside him. Then, there's the familiar rasp of parka nylon and the slip of laces pulled tight through metal eyelets. David’s leaving. It would hardly be the first time for him to leave without a word. Hell, it was routine. They talked, _really_ talked, like they fucked; only when they needed it, and then, until exhaustion. There's a nostalgia to the whole song and dance that Kaz knows better than to read too deeply into. Instead, he screws his eyes shut tighter against the morning, thinks of warm climates, and tries for a little more sleep.

“Master…”

Or not.

“Mm?” Kaz ventures a peek and is met with David staring back at him, wearing that worried frown he seemed to default into if he got stuck in his head too long. He’d been thinking about things again, Kaz realizes; thinking about something, apparently, heavy enough that it hadn’t been flushed out in a long night with a bottle of Crown and a little of that nice vodka from Iceland that Nadine had pushed on him to keep. Better to keep them away from Catherine. Kaz is running out of genuine answers. He sighs. David looks toward the birch door.

“I’ve got a date.”

The statement comes out soft, and though he doesn't actually mean for it to sound like an admission of guilt, it lays heavy in the air. Kaz sighs, abandoning any hope he had for extra shut-eye. It’s too damn early for this, but Kaz is wide awake now, burgeoning headache and all, and there’s nothing he can do about the unease already prickling in his belly.  A couple years back, he might have messed with Dave and given him shit for the same words. It’s funny just how easy it is to imagine a younger Solid admitting it, bashful grin on a softer face and a hand scratching the back of his neck. Now, it just sounds absurd. He probably couldn’t feign that kind of indifference now even if he tried. What is he supposed to do? Fall back into his old reliable mentor role and tell him to ‘break a leg’? Pretend like he hadn’t gotten David off three times last night alone? Kaz pushes himself up and sits back against the headboard. Solid's still young. He deserves to give a shot at something else; something more than their tired act of falling into the broken and familiar.

“’S that right?” he says eventually. Kaz rubs the remaining sleep from the corners of his eyes, reaches to the nightstand behind him for his aviators out of habit, then decides against it. there’s nobody but the two of them here now, and the glasses feel a little too much like hiding.

“Yes sir. With C-”

“Cindy. That girl who works the register at the general store.”  Kaz notes the subtle switch in Solid's demeanor with bitter amusement. It was only a week ago that he'd disclosed his birth name to him as a sign of good faith, and David had taken to it pretty quick. After that, being met with that damned cadet voice and carefully blank expression was like the shock of frigid water, never mind the impersonal honorific.

“That’s-”

“It’s alright." Kaz smiles coldly.

"Rumor travels fast in town. It just… surprised me. I really didn’t expect you kids to stop beating around the bush so fast.” Or at all, were he honest with himself. The morning sun washes David out, making him look younger than his age. Maybe even a little less grim. It's unfair. Kaz clears his throat.

“So what does she know about you?"

He’s not sure if there’s any real way to divert the line of questioning before it reaches Kaz’s point. Dave stays silent for a beat, and Kaz goes on before he can come up with a satisfactory answer.

"Have you told her anything about what you did before coming out here?” He knows the answer before he asks, but it sure as hell doesn’t stop him from asking. Kaz isn't really reaching for an answer as much as a reaction, anyway. Dave lowers his head a fraction and fidgets, his hands a tell against the crumpled bedsheets between them.

"Said I was in the army," he says briskly. "I didn't like it, and I left."

“So that's it, huh? That easy? When did you plan on telling her?” he presses, and Dave’s eyes narrow further, meeting him now with some resistance. There's a veritable army of skeletons in David's closet, and Kaz could be referring to any of them. All of them.

“Hadn’t really thought that far.”

Kaz scoffs. The Solid he had trained thought about every possibility in a situation. Wartime pragmatism didn’t always have it’s place outside of the battlefield, but the easiest way to make sure it stuck was to make it second nature. By now, that sense is hardwired into Solid’s instincts. He had to have chewed it over. Kaz’ brows knit and a low, knowing chuckle escapes his throat.

“Didn’t wanna scare her off, huh?"

Bullseye. David's wince emboldens him. Kaz leans forward and David shirks away in equal measure until he bumps back against the nightstand. 

"I’m glad you’re getting along with the civvies, but did you really think you could just put yourself out there and make a clean break?” 

“No,” he says, “But-”

“You know, sooner or later, you’ll catch yourself realizing she's happy.” Kaz might be projecting but he also knows that Dave will sit and listen like he’s conditioned to, and he’s got a lot to say. So he smiles with the self-assuredness that he’s earned in age. 

“She's got it in her to be happy, so maybe you think that’ll rub off on you. But the truth is? You're still going to be nostalgic about all the wrong things, things that only people like us know, and you’re gonna keep thinking about everything you're missing just by being here."

David breathes deeply and waits for him to finish, lips a tight line. He’s distressed. Maybe not in obvious gestures, but then again, with a kid like David, you really learned to read the air. Kaz doesn’t miss the way that he clenches his jaw, tension accumulating in the breadth of his shoulders, the quiet way that his trainees tended to brace themselves while getting chewed out. Even now. He watches as David swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing before he meets Kaz’ gaze with what staunch opposition he can muster.

"...I’m leaving.”

“Wait.” Dave ignores him, turning to the door and making to stand before Kaz catches his wrist tightly in his grip.

"I said _wait_ ,” Kaz repeats, and David doesn’t look back, doesn’t jerk away. 

“You're not seriously… gonna go after her? I know you, Solid.” He stresses the codename like it’s some big secret in-joke, but David isn't laughing.

“No matter how close you get with anyone here, you're gonna be missing something. Maybe not a gun in your hands, not the killing, but you’re sure as hell going to miss the purpose.” Kaz leans in closer, pulling his student's wrist toward him so he can press his mouth treacherously to Dave’s nape, then to his pulse. It’s racing. He stays there, breathing in the warm scent of smoke and vetiver, savoring the way that David trembles against his lips. 

“You know we're stuck here-- We’re out in Twin _Fucks_ with more dogs than people for company.” He sighs. “But it suits us. And you say you’re not going back to Foxhound either... So where does that leave us? We’re caught in between. Haunted by the phantoms of our past.” 

Dave shivers, eyes falling closed as his Master’s words fall in hot breaths against his skin. His fists are white-knuckled at his sides. 

“Maybe you’d wake up one day, Cindy in your arms and the both of you staring out the window into the snow, and it might even be nice. But you’re never gonna see that snow the way she does. Not while you’re a Snake. Hell, I thought you'd already accepted that. After all, that’s why you were a no-show with that Holly- " 

And Dave twists, launching his free fist at the center of Kaz’ face. The old man still has the reflexes to duck out of the way, and while it lands, it’s not clean. His knucles hit the corner of Kaz’s jaw, angling him into the cedar headboard with a quiet thunk. The realization comes to David a split-second after the satisfaction does. He hit a superior. He hit _Master Miller_ , and it’s true they’re not working anymore, but it doesn’t change the guilt from ebbing into him as soon as it’s over. Kaz loosens his vice grip on his wrist for that second and Dave wrenches away to make for the door, not bothering to look back. Won’t let himself. He can see it all in his mind’s eye, anyway: Miller rubbing his jaw, cursing them both for the rest of his day with the remaining booze as company, and calling him a week later as if the whole exchange had never transpired. He understands, but he's not impressed. 

"You need me. To keep your head bearable…” His Master calls from behind him. He can make it to the door if only he drowns it out. If the guilt doesn’t catch up with him. 

“I need you." 

Dave stops in his tracks despite himself, anger already beginning to bubble again beneath his skin. Once, under the influence of a hefty amount of alcohol and codeine, Snake had gotten Kaz to spill the story of how he’d met his father. How he’d pleaded for Big Boss to take his head off while hiding a grenade under him; a show of weakness before a final desperate strike. It seems fitting to recall that now. There’s a moment of hesitation. Dave can see himself in the vague reflection of the brass doorknob, but he can’t really make out his face. Kaz’s stare is unnerving against his back. He turns back to Kaz, slumping forward and baring himself in acquiescence.

"Now take that fucking parka off, would you?"

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it took so long for me to build up the nerve to write actual porn.

_"Now take that fucking parka off, would you?"_

\----

His gaze is both hard and far-off in a way that makes David stop thinking, and his body thrums under it. He’s oddly grateful for the order (because it certainly wasn’t a question, not really), allowing David to simply focus on the physicality of his motions. His fingers fly to the first snap button, and he pops the rest of them down the row with mechanical precision so that the only thing he can hear is the breath of them both and the click of the fastenings echoing through the quiet room.

All this, and it’s only possible because Miller slips so easily into that nostalgic countenance that demands his performance. It must be his voice, David thinks idly, because he could recognize it anywhere and anytime, whether it be distorted through radio frequencies with no face to put to it or made rough from shouting across training fields. It had always been the quickest and surest way to snap Solid back into the reality of the present. So Miller knows just how to address him by now, rough and demanding, and if David so readily obeys his words like gospel, he must be doing something right.

Miller leans back against the headboard, smiling lazily-- proud, almost, and that’s when David knows he’s lost for sure. This is exactly the kind of thing that makes David pained with nostalgia, makes him both humble and confident. It makes him efficient, because in the end, being controlled was such an easy thing, if he let it be: Load, pull the trigger. Steady yourself. Run eight miles in the rain. Learn to take a fall. Do it again. Learn your body and what it can do. What it can’t. Do it again. Do it better. Listen to everything. Block out  the white noise. Listen to me. Kill the target, find your way out. You can smell him burning. Men dying in the crossfire. Nothing to be done about it, get out of the hot zone. He’s good. One of the best.

Fragments of memories beat around his head while he stares off into cloudy blue eyes. Miller’s gaze follows his hands in turn. The parka is quickly unzipped and hits the floor. David takes the initiative then, grabbing the hem of his sweater and lifting it up and over his head. His muscles move tight and lithe under the thin fabric of his remaining thermal. The sweater lands, piling on top of the parka, and Dave stands still, wondering if it would be too presumptuous to climb back into his master’s bed unbidden. Miller hums low, as if mulling things over, and David straightens his back, like this is an evaluation he hopes to pass. Finally, Miller motions him closer and he scrambles up until his shins hit the bed frame.

“Get on your knees.”

David drops overzealously, his knees hitting the hardwood with a sharp crack. The sound sets the huskies downstairs to break out in a chorus of whining and barking-- they must be antsy to get back home. David turns, finds himself looking at the door again.

“They'll be fine,” Miller says impatiently. He presses his foot down against the fly of David's old fatigues, making David's breath hitch in his throat in a shocked, almost innocent way, and Miller can't help but chuckle. The heat on Dave’s cheeks then is equal parts embarrassment and arousal.

“C'mon, eyes on me.”

To Miller's merit, the dogs’ voices settle down soon enough. The master always had a better sensibility when it came to animals-- something that David had suspected was learned as opposed to his own love for them. Snake turns around slowly to look up into his master's dull eyes.

“Good,” he drawls, “Take off your shirt, David.”

Another order. He relishes it, fingers finding the hem of his thermal as he watches his master's face for any reaction. He peels the shirt up slow over his abdomen, crossing and uncrossing his arms as the shirt lifts over his head. Miller had teased him about it the first time he’d seen David strip. The motion definitely doesn’t come naturally to David; it was just something he’d seen from female recruits and Playboy centerfolds-- such a casually pretty action. He recalls how he and his peers’ eyes would stay glued to the female recruits, only looking away once the shirts were off and they could be caught staring. So yes, his motions are an artifice, a deliberate copy, but they’re not an inconvenience. Not as long as he can keep Miller’s interest. Nowadays, he couldn't care less. Not when Miller's foot is grinding so encouragingly into the front of his pants. Miller always liked a show, so David learned to give one. Each movement is drawn out, lean body twisting sinuously before his shirt drops onto the floor.

Miller's tongue darts out between his lips as he unabashedly takes in the sight of David's hard body. Gooseflesh and fine hairs are made obvious in the sunlight, and he doesn't miss the small shiver that wracks Solid’s frame. Even better, last night's bruises look more vivid somehow, already blooming into deep blues and purples across David's chest and arms. He wonders how David planned on hiding them all or explaining them away. The dull impulse to leave even more hits him right away.

Miller pulls himself out of his boxers and behind to stroke himself at an easy pace. He allows himself a smug smile, noting the flush coming over David's face and the fact that he hasn't moved except to follow what he's told him to so far. David's dick is hard enough now that he can see and feel the distinct outline of it under his fatigues, a wet patch forming beneath the ball of his foot. He makes such a pretty image of discipline, Miller thinks, groaning lowly.

“Alright, come closer.”

David scoots up to the bedside until his shoulders are bracketed by his master's knees. He reaches for Miller's cock, pink and slick with pre, only to have his hand batted away by Miller's cold prosthetic one. David hears tisking from above and looks up confused and dutiful through dark lashes.

“Did I say you could do that? _Patience,_ David.”

So he tries and stays patient; sits back on his heels, hands fisted into the loose fabric of his pants as Miller’s foot continues to grind against his dick with fiction that isn't nearly enough, transfixed on the obscene view of his master fucking into his own fist. He watches as Miller's lips part and his breaths shallow, a thin sheen of sweat starting over his well-muscled body as pre begins to dribble at the slit of his cock.

Miller’s gaze sweeps from Solid's mouth down to his neck and broad chest.

“Up on your knees,” he grits out, and again, David is all too quick to comply. Miller shifts himself further up to the edge of the bed, finding a precarious balance there, and presses the head of his cock to Dave’s chin. Drags the leaking tip along the jut of his clavicle. David swallows nervously, looking up at his master as he lifts his head and bares his neck. He takes it upon himself to shift himself a little higher, and Miller adjusts. His cock slides in the groove between David's pecs, and the visual alone is enough to make him groan, low and rumbling. This boy, _his_ boy, is so eager, watching his master’s dick rut between his tits. He can almost anticipate what comes next. David’s lips part, tongue darting out to wet them before he talks.

“Can I-”

“No.”  
  
He grins, vaguely surprised at how much he enjoys simply denying David, because the answer comes out before he even really thinks about it. David's too fucking pretty. Too controlled. He’d been there through the years, watched him grow into his face, into features sharper than Boss’ and a mind to match. Where Boss would take and take, David was a young and eager thing, always thinking about how best to give himself up to the task at hand.

“Get up here,” Miller says coarsely, and David is cautious at first, but God, Miller is tired of giving orders. Miller leans back on the bed, pulling David so he can straddle him. The boy dips down for a kiss, but Miller holds him there, licking up into Dave's mouth with a slutty moan. Miller's hands fly to the front of David's fatigues, pulling them quickly off along with his briefs before encouraging him with the slow grind of his hips against David's own, leaning up and into him until the younger man’s desperation wins out and he takes the lead, tongue fucking deep into Miller's mouth with each grind of his hips. A hand travels splayed down his master's chest before clamping down roughly on Miller's hip bone and keeping him in place, fingers pressing deep enough to bruise.

Miller reaches under the pillow and pushes the bottle of lube there to David's chest.

“Hurry up.”

And those words are all it takes for David to scramble, pushing his master’s thighs apart before he coats his fingers in the gel, throwing the open bottle to the side. Miller is tight, ass squeezing around David’s index, only for his breath to hitch when he adds another. He know he’s being rough, going a little too fast, but David needs to fuck him before he cums in his fucking pants. He adds a third. Starts to stretch and fuck his hand in and out of his master’s tight hole. Still a little too tight, he thinks. David can’t remember the last time he’d topped, and it’s a shame because and Miller makes a damn good show of being fucked, chest heaving and covered already in a thin sheen of sweat.

It’s nostalgic, Miller thinks wryly, as he fucks himself back against the relentless, almost careless pace of David’s thick fingers.  
  
“That’s enough,” he says, and his voice comes out coarse.

“Master…”

Miller runs a hand over his own chest to pinch and rub idly at a nipple, the other hand propped behind his head as he watches his sweet David line his cock up and press slowly in. Smiles as he watches David’s face contort into a focused grimace. It’s an almost pleasant kind of burn, feeling David stretch his ass open until he’s buried to the hilt. He looks like he needs a minute, needs to calm down or he’ll blow his load right then and there, and Miller barks out a laughs. Miller is strenuously slow, canting his hips up and clenching around the base of his cock until David has to snap his hips back into his. 

“‘Atta boy.”

It's all he needs to say. The pacing is off from the get-go. David is harried and erratic, thrusting deep into his master as he chastises him for it, rolling his hips back up into David’s in an attempt to match his pace. It doesn’t take long before he catches that odd look in David’s eyes, speaking of so much restraint. Before he can question it, though, before he can even catch his hitching breath, David is leaning down, hands framing his face. He barely has time to post his hand back against David’s chest, to push, before he’s kissing him, licking into his mouth like he’s trying to remember everything about it. Instead, he hooks an arm around David’s nape and drags him down. David needs to be entertained. Encouraged. Anything to keep him by his side. He can feel the spit drip down the side of his mouth and his lips swell from the dramatic mashing of their mouths that David had insisted on.

There’s no art, no finesse in anything that David does to his body today, and Miller almost prefers it that way. As long as there is a Snake to keep taking, he supposes it’s deeply encoded in him by now to give and give and give. He’s vaguely aware of pre-cum pooling warm on his chest as Dave’s cock presses insistently against his prostate and moreso of the quickening pace of David’s needy breaths. Miller swallows his moans and doesn’t even complain when their teeth gnash against each other. David jerks his head back as he snaps his hips frantically and tenses, balls deep as he comes inside his master’s ass, collapsing heavy onto him once he’s completely spent. and Miller pulls away, watching intently as Dave weakly gives those last few thrusts and he’s completely spent. He watches as his student collects himself, fluttering his eyes closed and breathing through his open mouth. He needs those lips around his cock. He doesn’t give David enough time to recover, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pushing his head down meaningfully. And blissed out as he is, his sweet boy dutifully takes the base of him in hand and sucks, looking up with admiration through lidded eyes with a mouthful of cock. It doesn’t take too long for Miller to come again, this time pulling out of Dave’s mouth and painting his face with sparse streaks of white. It’s a good look for him. He makes space beside him on the bed and feels the springs creak as David joins him, reaching for the tissues before wiping them both off.

“Should get you jealous more often,” he says with a tired grin. Miller grunts a reply, turning to face the window. He’s entirely too aware of the cum leaking from his ass and the tremble cutting through the kid’s transparent bravado.

“See yourself out, David.”


End file.
